


I dOn'T eVeN LiKe YoU

by disenchantedphoenix



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Isn't it?, M/M, and besides that's how you describe Good Omens as a book, lil bit of crack but not too much, mostly serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 09:54:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17221751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disenchantedphoenix/pseuds/disenchantedphoenix
Summary: Crowley may have pretended that Aziraphale's words hadn't phased him, but turns out those things have a way of sticking with you.Or, a fic based on this post:aziraphale: i don’t even like youcrowley: you DOcrowley three hours later: *home alone, crying, drinking wine* w-why woulllf he s,ayyyy that,t





	I dOn'T eVeN LiKe YoU

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a tumblr post I saw while scrolling through the ship tag, and written based on what I know of Good Omens i.e. I'm only about a third of the way through the book. But this story doesn't actually deal with any plot points, just character fuckery, so it should be fine! Basically, I took everyone's favorite lines from the trailer and ran with them. Hope you like!

The first words out of Aziraphale’s mouth hadn’t meant much to Crowley. Typical stuffy, anxiety-ridden ramble out of angel who still believed he was on the through-and-through, wholly divine path despite centuries of not exactly virtuous decisions. The dove stuck in his mind, for some reason. He’d never let Azi live that down.

“Friends? We’re not friends,” Aziraphale wined. “We are an angel and a demon. We’re on opposite sides!”

“We’re on our side,” Crowley had hissed back, momentarily annoyed at Aziraphale for playing the part of virtue. As though they hadn’t just spent millennia shirking their respective duties.

“There is no our side! We have nothing whatsoever in common!” Aziraphale’s voice reached a pitch that made Crowley wince. “I don’t even like you!”

“You do!” Crowley had replied, scoffing at the very idea even as he trailed Aziraphale through the park because, real or contrived animosity aside, there was an antichrist coming.

Three hours later, they had a plan in place. Crowley had wandered back to his flat, and Aziraphale’s words had wandered with him.

He had tried to put it out of his mind, to chalk it up to what it was: a statement uttered when Azi felt the truth of their friendship wasn’t proper, wasn’t good enough to be spoken aloud. Even after all these years. He’d huffed and poured himself a glass of wine. That hurt a little. But he was a demon after all, and petty human emotions weren’t about to get the better of him, not today. He hadn’t penciled in the usual time slot.

That’s what he’d told himself. But three hours later, here he was, halfway into a second bottle of wine and utterly devastated.

Aziraphale just had to pick that moment to come bursting through the door.

“Crowley, I’ve just had a wonderful idea regarding the Antichrist! What if we—” He stopped, and it would have been comical, the way he skidded to a halt, if Crowley hadn’t been blinded by drunk tears. “My dear boy, why are you crying?”

“What did you have to g-go and d-do that for, Azi?” Crowley blubbered, hanging his head. The glass of wine tottered dangerously in his loose grasp. “I thought we had s-s-something special, you and I!”

“What are you going on about?” Aziraphale asked. He was suddenly very close, and Crowley jumped in his seat, finally succeeding in spilling wine all over his carpet. For once, his drunk mind was surprised to note, Aziraphale didn’t notice a mess. “What happened? Did they discover our plan already? Who has tortured you?”

Right now, the flames in Aziraphale’s eyes could rival those of his long-lost sword. Crowley looked down into them and—Wait, down? He didn’t remember the angel being quite this short. A few blinks cleared his vision and told him Aziraphale was kneeling before his chair, frantically patting him over for wounds.

“There doesn’t seem to be any blood, Crowley. What did they do to you? Was it psychological?”

Crowley suddenly remembered why he’d been crying and pushed Aziraphale’s hands away with a few jerking motions.

“Whatdaya mean you d-don’t even like me? Why would you s-say that? It’s… It’s…” Crowley thought for a moment, snapped his fingers once he had it again. “Betrayal! Yeah, that’s what it is.”

Aziraphale’s eyes softened, and his hands came to rest against Crowley’s legs. “Is that all this is, my dear? I had no idea I’d made you quite so … emotional.”

Aziraphale had never seen him cry, that much was true. Sure, he had seen Crowley get angry, happy, even a little sad sometimes, but he’d never permitted this much feeling in front of the angel, even during the nights they spent drinking. Crowley’s intoxicated mind was able to grasp that thought for a few seconds, hold onto it. He attempted to stand and storm off, hide his shameful outburst from Aziraphale’s eyes. All he succeeded in doing, however, was tipping forward. He was saved by a pair of coat-clad arms, which pulled him upright again.

“Steady, dear. Let’s get ourselves together now.”

Crowley was dizzy. Thoughts and emotions and memories were swirling around in his head, none of it making sense. He didn’t altogether remember whose voice that was. His face was smashed against a rather dull-looking vest and button-up combination, but he didn’t mind, really. It was soft and it smelled rather nice. He sagged against it.

“I don’t know why Aziraphale said he didn’t like me,” Crowley muttered against the fabric. “It’s been quite a long time to just now come out with it, don’t you think?”

“Oh, I think Aziraphale likes you,” the voice connected to the vest answered. “I think he likes you quite a bit. He’s just afraid to admit it sometimes.”

“Hmm,” Crowley said, lazily gathering the soft material into his fingers. “Thassokay. I am, too.”

“Right,” the voice answered, and Crowley thought he could hear a smile in it.“Now let’s-”

“Only sometimes I think I like him in ways he doesn’t like me,” Crowley continued, oblivious to the sudden stillness of the vest and the body beneath it. “Y’know that feeling?”

There was no answer from the voice.

“Like when you look at someone, and you know they’re your best friend, but you also want to hug them,” Crowley continued. “A lot. And kiss them, too. And maybe hug them while you’re kissing them, and then—”

“Alright, that’s quite enough of that,” the voice said, sounding quite flustered now. “Let’s get you up to bed, and you can tell me all about it tomorrow. Because you will be explaining this to me.”

“Mmmkay,” Crowley answered, already pitching toward the hall. “Just don’t tell Aziraphale, okay? I don’t want him to be mad at me.”

A hand was pressed against his back, leading him forward. “I don’t think Aziraphale would be mad at you.”

“Mnot so sure bout that.” Words were getting harder to form by the second, and Crowley was grateful to make it to his bed and fall forward into a mountain of blankets and pillows. He would have happily stayed sprawled across the mattress in his day clothes, but he felt hands rearranging him, tucking him under the blankets. His suit transformed into soft pajamas.

Sleep was about to envelope him, but through the haze he thought he sensed the mysterious person leaving. His hand shot out and groped blindly in the dark, finally latching onto a sleeve and pulling back. He heard a stumbling noise, a curse.

“Stay,” he managed, and pulled the person onto the bed beside him. “You’re warm.”

And then he fell hard into sleep.


End file.
